


life: after

by Anonymous



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Afterlife, Fluff and Crack, Gen, Mild Language, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-12 10:04:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11159616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The great thing about the afterlife is the company.Post-game. Multii-Pairing. Afterlife Fic.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CkyKing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CkyKing/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tfw you accept the angsty canon but miraculously remain in De Nial

Unnatural.

To find four words so incontrovertibly true and comforting that he’s able to rationalize his way out of grieving. Able to keep moving; able to never look back. Not even for Crowe, not even for Pelna. 

_If you have time to mourn, you have energy to fight.  Niflheim’s just outside the gates._

_Insomnia is falling apart; there’s no time._

_So mourn when you’re dead._

And inevitably, he is. He passes on, and there are no more excuses; only time.

And here in the afterlife, it stretches toward the infinite. 


	2. Chapter 2

The first day (of the rest of his afterlife) Nyx wakes in a bar. It's not all that surprising: conversations of an existential nature aren't all that uncommon when you have post-battle drinking sessions at the close of business every day. He can't remember if it was he or Libertus who said their idea of heaven was at the bottom of a glass, so it's fitting.

Somehow.

Someone kicks him sharply in the shin when he tries to get a good look at the place.

"Yeah, yeah you're dead I'm dead, get over it." Crowe waves it off as though it's something she's tired of repeating. In front of her is a foot high stack of barbecue ribs. Nyx's mouth waters, but experience has taught him better than to scab off of her.

Off to the side someone sighs.

"Come on Crowe, I thought we'd agreed to ease him slowly into it.

Nyx stands, at a loss for words, sensory overload settling in as Pelna approaches their table with two beers, setting them down.  

"Easing? It's  _death_ , Pelna. There is no ' _easing_ ' to be done. You die, and that's it."

Pelna offers a hand, grinning.

"Hey, hero."

The handshake lasts two seconds before Nyx yanks the man forward, hugging him tight enough to remodel his skeleton. Pelna returns the embrace with as much movement a man with both arms pinned to his sides is capable of. In the background Crowe snorts.

"Whoa, um. Yeah, okay, nice to see you too." Says Pelna.

 _'I owe you.'_  Nyx remembers, over the sickening crunch of bone echoing in his head. "I owe you." he repeats, hoarsely.  

“Promise I won’t let it get to my head,” Pelna teases.

And then Nyx breaks.  

Pelna holds him through it (he manages to get his hands free long enough to): solid, warm, patient. He rubs soothing circles on his back for every pathetic 'sorry' that comes out, and never once lets up.  Tears and snot, all over his tee shirt. It's actually pretty gross.   

"Don't worry; I cried too when I first got here.  Cry all you want.  You need to." 

"Yeah cry all you want, but if you so much as try to  _kiss_  him--I don't care that we go way back--I'll fucking gut you with this spare rib, Nyx."

Nyx is so completely taken aback by the threat he actually  _stops_  crying and looks up, wiping his face as best he can with the back of his hand.  Pelna pulls a handkerchief from the air and Nyx takes it without question. They’re three dead people in a bar: they’re not allowed to judge.

"W-what?" Oh _astrals_ , hiccups too?

" _Crowe_ ," Pelna chides, sounding slightly embarrassed. He can't see her face but Nyx can, and the rib she's holding looks like it's been sharpened with her teeth.

Nyx doesn't let go. Reason A: Pelna's taking all of his weight at this point and if he withdraws, he's sure he's going to sag right through the floor. Reason B: the longer Crowe glares at him, the more certain he becomes in this decision to use Pelna as a human ghost shield.  And Reason C it's…you know,  _nice_ , being held like this.  It's nice to be the protect _ee_ , for once.

 _Still; what’s her_ deal?

"Are you mad about the (hic) hairclip?" Nyx asks. "Because you (hic) you know I was just teasing, right?"

Crowe's expression goes deliberately blank; snaps the rib in her hand like a pencil. 

Long, awkward silence.

Pelna sighs, like there's no way around it, and steps back a little so he can face Nyx. 

"We're dating."

“…(hic)?”

“Well—on and off when we were still alive. We agreed to come clean when she got back but then Luche got the drop on her—” 

“He did _not_ get the drop on me—”

“And then _I_ was gonna tell you but then—”

Crowe cracks another spare rib. 

Pelna touches his neck self-consciously. “Yeah. _That_.” He says.  (“Some point man _you_ are.” Crowe says.)

Nyx blinks, once, twice, and then, eyes rolling into the back of his head, passes out right on the bar floor. Pelna hovers over him, trying to apply First Aid and Crowe rolls her eyes and goes straight back to eating.

This is the afterlife and it's not what Nyx expected.

( _It’s so much better._ )


	3. Chapter 3

Nyx wakes (again) to the sound of waves crashing onto the shore; to triumphant, uproarious laughter that regresses into shrieks when Pelna pursues vengefully, tackling Crowe into the water.  They slip in a tangle of limbs under the surf, and the ocean goes quiet.

Nyx stares out at that sparkling blue expanse, inexplicably pulled in by the stillness—it’s something to get used to.  The only quiet a glaive knows are the ones before storms hit, the ones that deprive you of rest because you spend so much time worrying. Preparing. The false reprieves before battle. The false reprieves after.

Here the quiet is exactly that: _quiet_.

Maybe they don't need to breathe here. Maybe they're breathing only out of habit, still too accustomed to playing by the rules of the Living when they should be adapting to the intractable carryings-on of the Dead. That’s the whole point of death, isn’t it? The Letting Go.

He's not opposed to the idea of figuring out the limits of the impossible, just that it's rather pointless. Not in a nihilistic way, just in a ‘That Sounds an Awful Lot Like _Homework’_ kind of way, and Nyx didn't let a bunch of Lucii barbecue him in the name of ‘Hearth and Home’ just to spend the rest of this existence doing just that.  He’s got better things to do.

At least, he  _hopes_ he’ll find better things to do. Idle hands, and all that.

Pelna and Crowe resurface, soundless, and profoundly intimate. Soft smiles, softer whispers while their whole world recedes from the shore. In life she was the tail end of a hurricane on a good day: chaotic and interminable and Pelna was the eye: deadly calm, focused. Neither one prevailing without the other.  But all storms run their course, and the aftermath is something sacred to behold: the longer Nyx looks, the more he feels that he's encroaching. 

He stands, dusts the sand off his boardies and starts walking. 

 _So cute they're disgusting_ , Nyx thinks.  There'll be plenty of other chances to tease them.  For now he devotes his energy to trudging across the sand dunes and up onto the pier at the neck of the cape.  There's a man relaxing in a fold-able chair, fishing tackle set up, rod cast.  He's also got an analog radio, _but there's no music, only static_ , Nyx realizes, the closer he gets.  

 _The songs of the dead,_  Nyx thinks, morbidly. (He also realizes that he almost didn’t recognize the man; dark sunglasses and floral shirt having thrown him for a loop.)

He clears his throat to announce his presence so he doesn't scare him half to...

...half to--

 _\--whatever. (Ugh,_ afterlife-ing is Hard.) 

"Enjoying your retirement, Your Majesty?"

"We're not at the office anymore, Nyx." says King Regis primly, eyes not leaving the water. "Regis will do.  Now, tell me: are you an angling man?"

"Might be a little rusty," Nyx admits.  Especially when the Imperials bomb your homeland straight to Hell. He's suddenly reminded of Selena and the dizzying weight that comes with hearing her screams in his head is enough to knock a grown man back onto his ass. 

Good thing there's a spare chair waiting to catch him when that happens, though. 

And beer, _always_ good to have beer. 

Just as Nyx twists off the top, the radio finds a working frequency, crooning out a 70s ballad that he recognizes:  Mom and Sel used to dance in the living room to it, singing into hairbrushes and urging him to join in. 

‘ _Hah! Not in a million years!’_

> **_“Now there's a smile to cheer me up when I'm lonely, that I can call whenever I'm feeling down…Smile and you know that I'm only_ _longing for the minute you'll be around…”_**

“Ever consider a career change, Nyx?” His former majesty teases.  

Nyx snorts, but ignores the dig, singing into his Corona.

> **_“If ever you should go away and nobody else would be near…There's always a smile to remember that you were here…”_ **

 

“A BITE!” Regis exclaims, as he’s suddenly jerked forward. “To arms, Nyx Ulric!”

“Sire!” Nyx answers, dutifully grabbing hold of the former king’s waist. Then he remembers: “I um mean _Regis_ —”

“Doesn’t matter.  You’re not getting away you little bastard!” Regis declares.  

Vaguely, Nyx reckons this would make for an interesting premise for a joke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is [Smile](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eq1OZhNTVsY) by Pussycat, song lyrics are also theirs. Nothing like some fluffy family music to drown out the angsty canon *cries*


	4. Chapter 4

The thing about jokes? They have a punchline.

Regis looks ten years younger with that grin on his face, clapping Nyx on the back while Leviathan's furious form looms menacingly over the entire peninsula, high enough to even block out the sun.

"What…the fuck." Nyx goes. Regis purses his lips a little in disapproval, but it’s swiftly substituted for delight in lieu of the newcomer joining them. They hug, and Nyx stares, both frozen and starstruck.

_The Shield…_ He doesn’t know if he’s meant to salute or not, so his body decides to commit to neither action, hand raised halfway in mid-air.  Clarus makes things easier: he reaches out and lowers that hand back to Nyx’s side.

“I’m off the clock, kid.” He says, and Nyx can’t refute that: Clarus certainly looks the part: polo shirt tucked into checked pants, like he’s just sauntered out of the Lucis Masters.  

“Yes s—um.  Copy that,” Nyx mumbles.  Clarus claps him on the back, chortling as if the military hierarchy ingrained into one’s brain from day one is something one can discard as easily as a used tissue. 

“Overthinking, son." 

_Sure_. _Especially when there’s a fucking serpent the size of a skyscraper glaring at us._  “Uh...right. So uh…Mr. Am—”

"Clarus."  He tips the brim of his cap up with a finger so he can survey Leviathan better while Nyx silently pronounces his name in a bid to get used to it. "Tranquility Rod, _Reggie_?"

_Reggie?_ Nyx mouths incredulously.  Thankfully neither of the two men see him.

Regis proudly holds up the snapped halves of said fishing pole in reply, which Clarus takes to inspect more closely. This is the best time to point out he could summon a new one but Nyx keeps silent lest Leviathan has friends. Or lackeys, considering She is the goddess of the Sea. Technicalities aside, both choices are undesirable. 

"I was starting to wonder why you were acting _fishy_." Clarus says, but with a knowing look at Regis.  Nyx stares, confused at the silent exchange until Regis face spreads into an excited, borderline manic grin.  

"You'll have to repeat that, I'm a little hard of _herring_."

_Oh astrals_ , Nyx thinks, groaning. 

"I'm saying you should have let _minnow_."

“Oh _cods_ , I hope I didn't go… _overboard_?”

“ _Whale_." Clarus snickers.  "You know how the saying goes _: anyfin_ is possible.”

“Especially when _opportunaty_ strikes.”

They crack up laughing then, slapping each other on the back, because _dads._

Leviathan roars, and the wooden panels of the pier quakes violently under their feet from the shockwaves reverberating throughout the whole area. Regis and Clarus pause in the middle of their laughter, exchange a _look_ that has to be the epitome of ' _sorry not sorry'_ before they go back to laughing even harder than before.  Not to be ignored, Leviathan surges forward, bringing with Her a wall of water that crashes down right on top of them. The impact knocks the air right out of Nyx's lungs (or the Dead equivalent of air), current sweeping him back.  There's no shore to wash up on, just miles of open ocean from all sides when Nyx resurfaces, kicking his feet to stay afloat. Regis and Clarus are nowhere to be seen, save for a monstrous tail fin coming down hard to knock him back underw—

Darkness.

It doesn't last as long as the others, kept at bay by a glowing _bio…thingy._

_Use your_ words _, come on, it was your favourite subject Nyx…_

The glow is either drifting closer or getting brighter.  It envelops Nyx whole before he finally decides to act on the instinct of swimming away. Oh well.

He hopes at least that his next stop has beer.


	5. Chapter 5

Noctis is at the lake's edge, boredly skipping stones, trying to beat his record when a body breaches the water's surface and the peaceful ambience. He'd like to think his rushing to the man's rescue is ‘because life is valuable’—usual spiel—but in all honesty it's a hundred per cent because  _oh thank astrals, someone else is stuck in this hell with me_.

CPR is pointless.  If Noctis were a lesser man he probably would have taken full advantage of it, because the guy he’s dragged back to land is  _attractive_.  He's muttering something under his breath, like someone talking in their sleep. Noctis sits on his knees and waits.  He could wake the guy up, but he, like any normal self-respecting person who values their sleep, would never commit the monstrous act of interrupting it.  Realizing he’d be creeped out if he woke to a stranger watching him sleep, he turns his attention back to the lake where he pulled him out of.  The timing of it all is just a little too good to be true: all he’d done was wish for company and next thing he knew, the lake had spat him right out.

_On another note, he looks vaguely familiar…_

"…glow…plankton…symbi...ship…stress…bio…bio--"

"Bioluminescence?" Noctis offers, narrowly jerking his head back in time to avoid getting head-butted when the guy suddenly sits bolt upright. He's got the widest grin on his face as a hand clamps hard on Noctis’ shoulder.

"Bioluminescence,  _thank you_." He squeezes a little before he lets go and it stalls the moving cogs in Noctis' brain.  Astrals, he’s  _pretty_.  

“Uh…yeah you’re uh…welcome.” Noctis manages to say.  It's just his luck that the guy's more preoccupied with getting to his feet and pulling Noctis up after him.

"...drop out of uni during second year after the Nifs took a steaming dump on my hometown, but before that Mr. Kramer's lectures were fun." He shrugs and begins the introductions. "Nyx Ulric, Your High…majesty…sire?" He frowns to himself.

Noctis touches his arm. It's totally not to squeeze the biceps outlined by the wet material of his floral shirt. (Though that's a nice bonus.)

"Noct will do. But if you're not comfortable then I'll accept high-majesty-sire." He adds with a grin.  It almost feels like the universe is moving to compensate him after twenty-two years of hell, and if that really is a Thing, then this isn’t a bad start to eternity. 

"Noct it is, your high-majesty-sire."

 _And funny, too._ Noctis clears his throat and tries not to fixate too hard on the way that his heart stumbles out of rhythm from the way his name rolls off Nyx’s tongue.  It’s worrying that he enjoys the feeling too much—because he's married, so this counts as cheating, right? 

At least, he's sure that wedding happened.  Or maybe it was a dream, because his left ring finger is still ring-less. Actually, it would have helped to explain why his dad was narrating to an invisible audience the whole time and why Luna and he were going along with it.  And it was sweet, but a little weird, too. 

Okay,  _a lot_  weird. 

_I need to find Luna so we can talk about this._

Nyx clears his throat, like he’s been trying to get his attention for some time.  “You can um—"

"What? Oh yeah. Sorry," Noctis adds absently as he lets go, quickly turning his head so Nyx doesn’t see how red it’s gone.  

_Walk away from the handsome person, walk away—_

Oh  _astrals_ , he’s  _following_.  

 

* * *

 

Nyx is two, maybe three footsteps behind Noctis, forest foliage crunching under his sandals before their surroundings switch and he's descending carefully down glass stairs.  The sweltering summer air becomes pleasantly cool air conditioning and he finds that his clothes have also changed. He’s back in his usual post-battle drinking attire, and that's fine: he'd have a lot more questions if the universe saw fit to put him into something uncomfortable, like wool or chainmail. 

He sways unsteadily on his feet as he reaches the bottom of the stairs, but that's more in line with the change in atmosphere.  He’s an island boy: knows the look and feel of a boat swaying on top of the ocean—not that you’d have to  _be_  one to make such an observation, but as a proud Galahdian and fishing is their  _thing—_ even though there’s very little Galahd left in the world to be proud of—just like electricity is Lestallum’s thing.  This boat— _yacht,_ because hardwood flooring, is cozy, too: some bookshelves fixed to one wall, photographs of Noctis’ friends decorating the other, a fifty-inch television with some cushy couches in one corner.  There’s even a gaming console with some of Nyx's favourite titles spread out on the coffee table.

"Something to drink?" Noctis offers, going behind the counter of a bar that wasn’t there while he was admiring the gaming corner. 

"Corona if you've got it.”  Nyx plants himself in one of the stools and fiddles with a coaster while he waits.  Noctis opens two with a bottle opener and passes one over.  

"To figuring out what this place means," Noctis says.

 _And letting sleeping Leviathans lie._ "Cheers."

Their bottles clink.

Noctis picks up a remote and switches on the radio, cycling through the channels until he lands on a station that specialises in pop songs. Nyx chuckles to himself. 

"A king and glaive walk into a bar…"

" _Former_  king." Noctis points out, looking slightly put out. 

" _Former glaive_ , too then," Nyx corrects, and Noctis nods, apprehension melting away as he starts again. “A former king and a former glaive walk into a bar—"

"-- _yacht_. And the former glaive  _followed_  the former king.” Noctis’ face turns red and looks away, clearing his throat.  “Sorry it's just funnier if you add specific facts."

Nyx rolls his eyes, but decides to let him have this round.  Much as he's starting to enjoy Noctis' company, there's no way this respite is going to last. Who knows where he'll wake up next.  He takes another swig and starts again:

"A  _former_  glaive follows a  _former_  king into a  _yacht_ …"

 

* * *

 

An hour later, they're hammered, lying on the deck of the yacht— _Carbuncle Excalibur_ —Noctis is holding his sides, like that's going to prevent them from splitting from all the laughter, tears streaming down his face.  Nyx is well on his way to reciting their twenty-third variation of an opening to a joke they still haven't gotten round to telling.

"A boy from Galahd loses his homeland to Niflheim and becomes a glaive and gets assigned to protect Lunafreya Nox Fleuret, Princess of Tenebrae, Daughter of Sylva Nox Fleuret and Ward of Niflheim, sister of Ravus Nox Fleuret, who likes jumping out of airships—"

"—I  _really_  don't know why you keep fixating on that detail—"

Nyx pokes him in the rib, and Noctis swats him. 

"You weren't there.” Nyx says, grinning as he recalls that death-defying stunt.   “It was reckless and amazing—"

"—and you're  _sure_  you didn't hit on her," says Noctis, peering at him in a way that reminds him of Pelna and Crowe every time Nyx gets released out of the infirmary and insists he’s been cleared for active duty.  

“For the record _: I_  would  _know_  if  _I_  was hitting on her, and for the last time: I  _didn't_ , because we were too busy trying to get  _your_  precious little death ring out of the city." Noctis scowls. It's a low blow, but it's the only way Nyx can get him to shut up.  "Now where was I…"

Noctis sighs, resting an arm over his eyes.  Gestures with his free hand. "Sister of Ravus Nox Fleuret—"

"Sister of Ravus Nox Fleuret rada rada…airships…dies but not before thwarting General Glauca from getting hold of the Ring of the Lucii: magical heirloom passed down from Lucis King to Lucis King, past and present, thus allowing her safe passage out of the city. Our tragic hero arrives in the afterlife—"

"What, like he caught a cab or something?" Noctis quips. Nyx rolls his eyes, but can't quite stop himself from snorting at the visual that presents itself in his head.  He hits Noctis for distracting him and continues:

"— _arrives_  in the afterlife wherein he meets up with his former workmates, then former king and former king's right hand man. Former king goes on to fish out Leviathan, who, understandably angrily, destroys everything, washing the former glaive away into a lake where he meets the  _son_  of the former king, now former king himself thanks to fulfilling his destiny.  Which, is: to  _die_  after accumulating the knowledge and power of his forefathers, but for reasons, which I assume pertain to shock value is  _deliberately kept in the dark_  about any of this until the end of chapter thirteen, whereby—"

"—wait, wait, hold up: I'm sorry; am I wrong to assume you've gone ahead and  _Table of Contents'd_  my life story?"

"Well, your life story is so migraine-inducingly  _convoluted_  that I  _have_  to.  You wanna know what my lifestory is?  Homeland destroyed, enlists into army for revenge despite shitty treatment from the locals.  Dies."

"Okay you win, carry on."

"--whereby he gets forcibly absorbed—okay.  Now  _I_  have to stop: did you really not see that double-cross coming?"

Noctis just glares at him.

“Forcibly absorbed by crystal where he meets Bahamut, King of the astrals, most powerful god in all of Eos who apparently needs a human to do his dirty work, but is nice enough to give the former king ten years to mull over dying for a cause he can't exactly back out of—"

"For the record I was gathering power and knowledge to defeat Ardyn—"

"—just for the suspenseful  _drama_  of it all, during which the entirety of Eos is plunged into darkness, and—astrals, your life is  _exhausting_ —and inevitably when the plot requires the king—but soon to be  _former_  king—again, he wakes up on Angle—"

" _Angel_. It’s _Angel_ gard, _not_ Angle—”

" _—_ meets up with his friends and make their way to the citadel and battle Ifrit,” Nyx pauses to clear his throat, “traitor of the astrals, possible lover to Shiva, hater of all things human and human-associated, then eventually does battle with the embodiment of darkness himself, eventually dying and bringing sunlight back to the world of Eos. Did I get all of that right?  _High-majesty_?”

Noctis fights off the smile.  “High-majesty- _sir_.”

“And you wanna know what the punchline is?”

“Not really, but be my guest.”

“The punchline is: if indeed the former king Noctis Lucis Caelum, first and last of his name _did_  succeed in eliminating night time  _forever_ , meaning  _constant_  daytime  _forever_ , then we’re still fucked, because global warming and climate change.  Actually, make that _royally_ fucked backwards and sideways, since we’ve sped up the process.”

“First of all, climate change is not a Thing—”

“Says the guy too privileged to notice,” Nyx retorts, grinning when Noctis’ eyes widen in outrage before capitalizing on his silence to hammer the final point home.  “In conclusion: Starscourge 2.0, except the scourge is _humanity_.  Boom.”

Noctis goes quiet.  Nyx pats him on the arm and closes his eyes, smiling to himself. 

“First A I ever got for that essay.  Even got a phone call from some guy in your old man’s PR team very politely offering to pay us an unreasonable amount of money in exchange for not publishing it anywhere.”

“What the fuck…”

“Yeah.” Nyx agrees, shaking his head.  “I’m not gonna question how they knew we were hard up, because my fifteen year-old ass just wanted to help mom and Selena out.  The rest is history…” Nyx notices his companion has sat up, hunched over with his face buried in his hands, so he does the same too out of concern.  “Aww man, are you crying?”

He reaches over to awkwardly pat him on the back, stopping just three seconds into it when he realizes the sounds he’s mistaken for anguished wails is actually _laughter_ , to the point of tears. There are  _tears_ streaming down Noctis’ face when he shoves Nyx.

“That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard!"

* * *

The great thing about the afterlife? No hangover when Noctis wakes up. The not-so great thing about the afterlife is that _because_ there's no hangover, Noctis recalls Nyx's disturbing theory in complete detail. The _worst_ thing about the afterlife is that Nyx does too, and is just as stubborn in insisting he's right as Noctis is in telling him he's wrong. 

He also has a weird way of dealing with it when their passive aggressive snipes escalate into shouting matches three days later:

"Are you _going to sleep in the middle of an argument?_ "

"No." says Nyx, back toward him, eyes calmly shut.  Noctis suddenly has so much respect for Ignis and Gladio right now, this is infuriating.

"You're clearly just about to doze off!  Turn around and face me you--"

"Tiebreaker." 

" _What_?"

"A way of deciding once and for all who--"

"I know what a tiebreaker is--"

"Good." says Nyx, one hand waving lazily in the air. "So just keep quiet then, and let me sleep, and I'll be right back with one."

" _If you think for one moment_ \--" Noctis starts, and then stalls, gaping at the empty space he _swears_  Nyx was lying just a second earlier.  "What the..."

Curiosity takes over as he crouches and touches the area. There's residual body heat which is comforting, kind of. There's no way Nyx could be a figment of his imagination -- he'd have to be a chocobo if he was, because those are cuter and a lot less infuriating.   _And can't talk._ As soon as he realizes that, he lies down as well and chastizes himself.

_The afterlife giveth and the afterlife taketh away._

"Good going, Noct." he says to the clouds floating past. "Give 'em the ol' catch and release." 

Not ten minutes later, he starts to feel himself drift, chuckling. "Heh. _Catch and release._ Dad would be proud of that one." 

It feels like he's closed his eyes for a second when he hears laughter. 

"...you didn't know him when he was eight. So cute." A familiar voice says.

"...I'll take your word for it." 

Noctis opens his eyes and finds himself bathed in sunlight, standing just outside a picturesque riverside café.  Seated at one of the tables beneath a wide red umbrella, apparently in the middle of an afternoon tea party are Nyx and Luna. She's as beautiful as he remembers, and  _happy_ , too but he can't quite find it in himself to move.  

 _I saw you die_.  

"Is that..." he almost loses his footing as he staggers forward, one hand tentatively outstretched. "Is it really you?"

Luna smiles.

"It is." she says. She gestures to the empty space beside her while Nyx pours Noctis a cup. "Won't you sit?"

Noctis does, with as much grace as a tree being felled, staring across the table at Nyx while the latter pushes a plate of scones to him with a smug grin.  The smile of someone who's got dirt.

"You look good in a suit." says Noctis, by way of peace offering, but also because it's true. 

"Thank you." says Nyx. "Now eat up,  high-majesty-sire, Luna's got some news for you."


End file.
